


Amor Prohibido

by phoenixflight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Pre-Canon, Self-Discovery, Sibling Incest, Soap Opera, Television Watching, meta narratives, use of media in narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:08:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22124590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixflight/pseuds/phoenixflight
Summary: They spent the spring of Sam's sophomore year living in a shitty apartment south of San Antonio. Sam did biology at the tiny kitchen table while Dean reheated burritos from the local greasy spoon, with the best guacamole Sam had ever eaten. In the evening they watched Spanish TV because they were stealing cable from their downstairs neighbor and only got three fuzzy channels.Every Friday night the clearest channel played three hour marathons of a Spanish soap called La Casa del Corazón. There was a mutually understood truce about watching it, because the alternatives were infomercials or creepy kids’ cartoons that futzed into static every fifteen seconds. "At least this has boobs in it," Dean proclaimed, and that was that.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 94





	Amor Prohibido

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 12 days of wincestmas. This concept has been banging around in my head for a while and it was an absolute joy to write. Apologies for any discrepancies in the Spanish. Title is of course from the song by Selena.

They spent the spring of Sam's sophomore year living in a shitty apartment south of San Antonio. For once they were in the right place for the weather. Texas in April was balmy, and after spending the first part of the year in northern Minnesota even John was dragging his feet about moving again. He found hunts in the south west, disappearing for weeks at a time while Dean picked up work under the table at a local garage. 

The two of them settled into a comfortable domestic routine, different only in the details from the routine in Minnesota, or Chattanooga before that, and Buffalo before that. Instead of chemistry homework, Sam did biology at the tiny kitchen table while Dean reheated leftovers from the local greasy spoon. Instead of burgers and soggy fries, it was burritos with the best guacamole Sam had ever eaten, even if it had turned brown in the fridge overnight. Oxidation. Sam had learned that at the last school, the one with chemistry. In the evening they watched Spanish TV instead of college football, because they were stealing cable from their downstairs neighbor and only got three fuzzy channels. 

Every Friday night the clearest channel played three hour marathons of a Spanish soap called La Casa del Corazón. There was a mutually understood truce about watching it, because the alternatives were infomercials or creepy kids’ cartoons that futzed into static every fifteen seconds. "At least this has boobs in it," Dean proclaimed, and that was that. 

It was a classic telenovela, from the low production values and overacting to the heaving bosoms and unrealistic murders. Neither of them spoke much Spanish but they both had a little. Sam had taken it in three out of the last five schools, and Dean knew enough to pick up girls, and was learning more from the guys at the shop every day - mostly jargon for car parts and obscenities. Together they managed to piece together most of the plot, what little there was. 

The protagonist was a woman named Isabella who was hopelessly torn in love between the poor but dashing Carlos and the rich and brooding Manuel. 

“I don't understand love triangles,” Dean said, kicking his feet up onto the couch in Sam's face. 

“Gross, Dean, do you ever wash your socks?” Sam yelped, shoving his legs away. 

“Hey, if my laundry mojo isn't good enough for you, I'll give you some quarters and you can knock yourself out.” He shifted so his feet were tucked between the back of the couch and Sam's ass. Sam's arm looped naturally around his knees. “I just mean, she's got these two hot guys after her, what's not to like? All it takes is a little finessing and she can have her cake and eat it too.”

“You think Carlos and Manuel are hot?” Sam asked, mouth curving up.

Dean threw a handful of Cheetos at him. “Shut up, you know what I mean.”

“They are, kinda,” Sam agreed, pushing his luck.

“Gay, dude.”

“So? You got a problem with it?” They had never talked about it, exactly, but Sam had thought that when men looked at his brother, sometimes he caught his brother looking back. 

“Hell yeah I got a problem with it,” Dean said, and though there was no heat to it, Sam's stomach rolled unpleasantly. Before he could work himself into a full blown freak out, Dean continued, “Problem with your taste. That Manuel is a real jerk. Definitely not hot. Carlos is the catch.” 

Sam breathed out, heart pounding like after a jump scare. “Yeah,” he agreed, more unsteadily than he wanted. “I like Carlos better too.” 

“Gotta root for the underdog,” Dean said happily, shoving a handful of cheesy snacks in his mouth and dusting orange crumbs all over the couch. “Still, I don't get all the angst. Isabella's a smart girl. She could totally string them both along if she wanted.” 

Sam had gotten so distracted from the initial conversation that it took him a moment to respond. “Doesn’t fidelity mean anything to you?” he asked. 

“Sure it does. But only about the important stuff.” Sam felt Dean's shrug through the shifting of the couch cushions and their legs tangled together. It was warm enough that they were both in boxers, bare legs all pressed up together. Sam's fingers dragged in the fine gold hairs on Dean's thigh and he shifted a little to hide his boner. He was used to it by now. 

“Sex isn't important?” Sam asked, incredulous. “Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” 

“Ha ha.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Sex is great. I just mean that people get stupid ideas about what's okay. Remember that succubus dad and I wasted a few years back?”

“You told me in excruciating detail, yes.”

“His girlfriend freaked out more that he  _ cheated on her _ -” Sam could hear the air quotes “-than that he practically got eaten. People's priorities are really fucked. Who cares if Isabella wants to bang both of them? Good for her.”

“I think the studio execs would care,” Sam said dryly, steering the conversation toward safer water. “It would be a real short show otherwise.” On screen, Manuel flung an arm in front of Isabella to shield her from the goons of his mysterious past, and then the picture cut to a mariachi jingle for dish soap. 

“Yeah I guess,” Dean said, reaching for the remote to mute the commercials. 

The following weekend Dean had a date on Friday night, and Sam spent two and a half restless hours trying to get ahead on his social studies assignment that wasn't due for two weeks - always a dicey prospect since John could come back and they'd be long gone before it was due. He flipped the TV on but La Casa del Corazón wasn't nearly as interesting without Dean's filthy commentary. The dogeared mystery novel he’s swiped from a gas station in New Mexico wasn’t holding his attention. He ended up lying on the couch jerking off because there was no one home to stop him.

When Dean got back a little after 11, Sam snarked, “Are her tits as good as Isabella's?”

“Jealous?” Dean shot back, and Sam subsided with a mumbled, “Jerk,” because he was. Had been for years, since long before he started waking up from wet dreams about his brother. Back then it had just been hurt anger that his brother wanted to spend time with anyone other than Sam. 

“You better be here next week,” he said as Dean kicked off his shoes. “The teaser said there was going to be the most dramatic reveal yet.” 

Rolling his eyes, Dean pulled his shirt over his head. “They always say that.” But the following Friday he was on the couch beside Sam, where he belonged. 

Missing an episode didn't really impact the coherence of the show. A new character had been introduced, an older woman claiming to be Isabella's aunt. “What's she going on about?” Dean asked, frowning. “She talks fucking fast.”

“I think she's reminiscing about Isabella's father to prove she really is who she says she is.” 

“Didn’t he die ages ago?”

“Yeah.” Sam flapped a hand. “Shush, this is hard to follow.” 

On screen, Carlos entered the room, and Isabella introduced him. “Mi amor,” she said, getting up to kiss him. 

The aunt, Martina, gasped, clutching at her chest. “Carlos?” she cried. “Eres tu? Es imposible!” She began gabbling in rapid Spanish and Dean leaned forward, frowning. 

“What the hell is she saying? More about their dad? Something about family?” 

“Shut up, Dean!” Sam waved a hand urgently. 

Isabella and Carlos were both looking shocked. “No!” cried Isabella. “No, no, no!”

“Es verdad,” Martina said solemnly. “Tu hermano.” 

“Holy shit,” Sam said, sitting back, eyes still glued to the screen. 

“No way,” said Dean. “Did she just say what I thought she said?”

Sam swallowed, throat dry. “I think so.” 

“Holy shit,” Dean echoed. They watched the hysterics escalate on screen until Carlos stormed out of the room and it cut to commercial. 

“Jesus,” Dean said, rubbing his hands absently on his thighs. “Guess she's gonna end up with Manuel after all. Shame.” 

Sam gaped, feeling like all the blood in his body that wasn't busy making his dick chub up was burning in his cheeks. “That's it? That’s all you have to say?”

Dean shrugged. “This kind of stuff happens all the time in soap operas. So I hear, anyway,” he added hastily. 

“They're siblings,” Sam squeaked, cheeks going even hotter when his voice cracked. That hardly happened at all anymore. 

“Yeah.” Dean grinned, his familiar about-to-fuck-with-Sam's-head grin. “Kinky.”

Sam couldn’t breathe. “Yeah?” he whispered. “You think?”

Something passed over Dean's face, and Sam, who knew every one of his brother's expressions, couldn't read it. “Sure,” Dean said, pushing himself up off the couch. “It's not like it's real, anyway. I'm making pop tarts, you want some?”

“Sure,” Sam said faintly, even though his stomach was too knotted to eat.

Sam couldn't stop thinking about it. 

He jerked off more times that week than he had in the last month, and that was saying something. He thought about Isabella and Carlos when he did, but not Isabella's spectacular breasts or Carlos' lickable biceps but about the two of them being siblings.  _ Fuck me, big brother,  _ Isabella moaned in his head, and Sam came all over the shower curtain. 

Dean banged on the door. “Don't use all the hot water, Sammy! I've got needs too.” An aftershock rushed through Sam strong enough to make him stumble against the gross shower wall.

In the school bathroom two hours later he jerked off again imagining Dean touching himself in the shower. He was so fucked. 

Sam's heart was pounding as they turned on the TV the following week. The episode started off following one of the innumerable and incomprehensible subplots, this one having to do with Manuel's dark and tortured past. Sam wasn't really paying attention, far more engrossed by where Dean's hand was resting against his ankle, thumb absently stroking the arch of Sam's foot. Sam had been hard for the past twenty minutes and was starting to contemplate excusing himself to the bathroom when there was a gunshot on screen. 

Manuel lay in a pool of fake blood, gasping, shot by one of the goons who was rappelling out the window. Isabella burst into the scene and began sobbing at Manuel's side. 

Dean whistled. “Damn. Maybe she's not gonna end up with Manuel after all.” 

Manuel gasped out his last, heartfelt words, and his head lolled back. Dean pumped a fist in the hair. “Score for Carlos!” 

“Really, Dean?” 

“Come on, he was a dick. Isabella totally deserves better.” 

“Like her brother?” 

“Hey, I didn’t write the script.” A car commercial came on and Dean began bitching comfortably about Japanese cars. 

Sam got up while Dean was distracted, escaping to the kitchen and adjusting himself in his sweats, wishing he had worn something heavier. “Grab me a beer, will you?” Dean shouted from the other room. Opening the fridge, Sam grabbed a Budweiser, and then, after a moment’s hesitation, a second one for himself. 

Dean raised an eyebrow at the second bottle but said nothing, just popped the top off on the edge of the scarred coffee table. The Bud was fizzy and bitter on Sam’s tongue, the cold bottle sweating between his knees as the commercial break ended. It was soothing on his dry throat, and something to do with his mouth and his hands when all he wanted to do was put them on his brother. The action on the screen was no distraction from Dean’s lips around the neck of the bottle. 

Until the end of the episode neared, and Isabella and Carlos were reunited in Isabella’s perfumed bedroom. 

“Carlos, no podemos,” Isabella said, turning her head away. 

“No me importa,” Carlos said, catching at her hand. “Te necesito. Te amo.” 

Sam was staring, beer bottle slippery in his numb fingers. They weren’t… were they?

“Oh, no way,” Dean said, appreciative. 

“Yo también te amo,” Isabella cried, and swooned into Carlos’ arms. Sam gulped as they kissed, pulling his knees up further to hide his erection, obvious in his soft, much-washed sweat pants. 

“Damn,” Dean said softly, as the studio lights went pink-tinged and the music swelled for a sex scene. “They’re really going to do it.” 

Isabella and Carlos embraced, and a wind machine began to blow her luscious hair as Carlos stripped his shirt off. Sam couldn’t breathe. His whole body was vibrating with awareness of his brother sitting less than a foot away. 

The softcore gasping and clutching on the screen was less graphic than what was on MTV three times out of five, but it had Sam’s blood pounding harder than any stolen porn he’d ever seen. On the other end of the couch, Dean shifted his hips subtly, and Sam felt a spike of heat that made him wonder if he was about to come in his pants. His fingers dug into the worn edge of the couch cushion beneath him. He was lightheaded, maybe more than a little tipsy after two thirds of a beer. 

Sam was almost grateful when the TV fade-cut to Isabella and Carlos curled on an artfully rumbled bed. 

“Carlos,” Isabella whispered, petting a hand across his bare chest. Her hair was an elaborate sprawl on the pillow that had probably taken her makeup team half an hour. “Carlos…” 

“Yo lo se, amor mio,” he whispered. “¿Pero... qué es mi mundo sin ti?” The screen faded to black and then a bright commercial blared across the screen so suddenly Sam jumped. Swearing, Dean fumbled for the remote and snapped the TV off. It went black and they both sat in the sudden, harsh silence. 

Sam gulped. His dick was so hard it hurt, and from the way Dean was sitting, he thought he wasn’t the only one. “Dean?” he asked, very quietly. 

Dean drained his beer, and rubbed his forearm over his eyes. “Yeah.” He glanced at Sam with a curl of wry amusement in the corner of his mouth. “You want first shower?” 

Sam’s face flushed hot, fingers clenching around the neck of his Bud, glass turning warm against his sweaty palms. His eyes dropped helplessly down to Dean’s lap, the unmistakable bulge in his pants. It wasn’t like he’d never seen Dean hard before, years of morning wood and walking in on each other, but what they had just been watching made it more intense by an order of magnitude “I…” he began, and gulped. 

Sam was a lightweight drunk and also most of the blood in his body was in his dick. That was the excuse he was going to use for tipping forward across the couch and kissing his brother. 

It wasn’t his first kiss but it was probably his least graceful yet - he was off balance and dizzy with arousal and alcohol. One of his hands landed on Dean’s chest, and his mouth was open and wet on Dean’s. He had a long, shocked second to register Dean’s full, slightly chapped lips against his own, before Dean jerked back, steadying Sam with a hand on his shoulder. 

“Sam,” he growled, in a familiar warning that came out an octave lower than usual. Sam shivered. 

“Dean…” he licked his lips, breathing hard. “Sorry, I just… I wanted…” 

“Soap giving you crazy ideas?” Dean’s tone was too neutral, his hand warm and broad on Sam’s chest. His pupils were dark but his expression closed-off. 

“No! No. I’ve. I’ve wanted. For a while.” Sam’s stomach was all knotted up, terror and hope all tangled together because that wasn’t actually a “no.” He let out a shaky breath. “I’ve wanted for so long and,” he gestured to the TV, “you didn’t think it was disgusting.” 

“You can’t believe everything you see on TV, Sammy.” Dean said, still with that guarded, unfamiliar look in his eyes.

“I know, but it's like you said,” Sam babbled, words spilling out fast and desperate. This was his shot and Dean still wasn’t shutting him down. “People's priorities are fucked. Who cares except us? We can have what we want. If you want it, I mean.” He faltered. “I know I’m fucked up but that doesn’t mean you are.”

Dean’s mouth twisted into a complicated moue and before Sam could start wondering what the fuck that expression meant, Dean said, “Fuck it,” and shoved him down on the couch to kiss him back, thoroughly. 

The following week they put on La Casa del Corazón as usual on Friday night, but within the first fifteen minutes they’d stopped paying attention. Sam had his leg slung over Dean’s hip, hard-on rubbing against his belly while Dean’s hands stroked his back under his rucked-up t-shirt. 

They made out with the taste of popcorn and Coca-cola on their tongues, rutting together lazily until Sam came in his boxers. Dean made a helpless choking noise when he felt the wetness seeping through the fabric, and shoved his own hand down his sweats to stroke himself fast and brutal as Sam panted against his shoulder. He’d watched his big brother come a lot this week, and he didn’t think he’d ever get tired of it. 

It was a warm Texas evening, and Sam was heavy with the lethargy of orgasm, soothed by the flickering illumination of the TV and the not-quite-familiar rhythm of Spanish voices. Dean had an arm slung around his shoulders, and Sam could feel his brother’s heartbeat beneath his cheek. His eyes drifted closed.

When he woke up, the TV was off, and Dean was petting his hair. “Hey kiddo, you slept through the big twist.”

“Hng?” Sam managed, rubbing his eyes and sitting up stiffly. Sleeping on his brother was amazing but it had kinda cricked his neck. 

“Yeah. Turns out Carlos and Isabella aren’t siblings after all. That Martina chick was a fraud, and Manuel faked his own death for… I’m not sure I missed that bit. So things are back to square one.”

“Huh,” Sam said, blinked at the dark TV and then at his brother. Dean’s mouth was still red and kiss-swollen. Obscene. Sam began to smile slowly. “Not exactly square one.” 

El fin.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love!


End file.
